Saturday's Storyteller: Seven Devils
by Belinda Roddie
The first devil was dressed in green and gold. He was like a leprechaun in both stature and mischief. No one asked him if there was a pot full of fortune at the end of the rainbow; he was colorblind, and he didn't see natural beauty like the rest of us do.
The second devil wore a pearl necklace and rings. She always appreciated the finer things in life. After six o'clock, she would head to the Lapdog Tavern in Gradyville and drink a gin and tonic to stave off her hay fever symptoms. Not even Satan's minions can stave off seasonal allergies; they affect both good and evil.
The third devil was a businessman at a company that sold flash drives and handled storage for camera footage. He was pretty familiar with police departments as a result. He liked to watch what they had recorded on their body cameras, sating himself with instances of brutality and excessive force. His wife always wondered why he seemed so tired when he came home after a shift.
The fourth devil was missing two teeth. Only two, though. Molars, in the back. She was actually pretty chill if you asked her about it. She said she chewed everything on the left side of her mouth because of it. Then she'd devour your soul if you became too hardy of an interrogator. But she'd chew said soul using her left molars, of course. Only her left.
The fifth devil stayed on the top floor of a hotel, watching porn and helping Russian bots spread propaganda about Democrats in time for the midterms. As far as they were concerned, keeping the orange man in power was bound to make the United States the equivalent of a hellmouth. After all, they themselves had installed a beautiful sinkhole in front of the White House as a point of symbolism. People said it posed no threat to the structure, but the Oval Office would be entirely consumed by 2019. It wasn't a threat - just a warning.
Meanwhile, the sixth and seventh devils lay together in a warm bed on the south side of Portland, sharing a joint and talking about backpacking in Europe, all while holding each other tightly enough to create creases in their own skin. One of them was good at hiding her horns in her rampant curls, while the other wore hers loudly and proudly. She considered getting them tattooed over the summer, specifically with rainbows. Then maybe Satan would actually accept her for who she was and give her a raise. She had persuaded Hollywood producers to make the Emoji Movie, after all.
The seventh devil let the smoke from the blunt fly from her mouth like clusters of tiny bats escaping the fiery bowels of Hell. Then she kissed the sixth devil on the head, pressed her pelvis against her back, and whispered, "Want me to make a Heaven out of this purgatory tonight?"
This week's prompt was provided by the song, "Seven Devils," written by Paul Epworth and Florence Welch and performed by Florence & The Machine.
The first devil was dressed in green and gold. He was like a leprechaun in both stature and mischief. No one asked him if there was a pot full of fortune at the end of the rainbow; he was colorblind, and he didn't see natural beauty like the rest of us do.
The second devil wore a pearl necklace and rings. She always appreciated the finer things in life. After six o'clock, she would head to the Lapdog Tavern in Gradyville and drink a gin and tonic to stave off her hay fever symptoms. Not even Satan's minions can stave off seasonal allergies; they affect both good and evil.
The third devil was a businessman at a company that sold flash drives and handled storage for camera footage. He was pretty familiar with police departments as a result. He liked to watch what they had recorded on their body cameras, sating himself with instances of brutality and excessive force. His wife always wondered why he seemed so tired when he came home after a shift.
The fourth devil was missing two teeth. Only two, though. Molars, in the back. She was actually pretty chill if you asked her about it. She said she chewed everything on the left side of her mouth because of it. Then she'd devour your soul if you became too hardy of an interrogator. But she'd chew said soul using her left molars, of course. Only her left.
The fifth devil stayed on the top floor of a hotel, watching porn and helping Russian bots spread propaganda about Democrats in time for the midterms. As far as they were concerned, keeping the orange man in power was bound to make the United States the equivalent of a hellmouth. After all, they themselves had installed a beautiful sinkhole in front of the White House as a point of symbolism. People said it posed no threat to the structure, but the Oval Office would be entirely consumed by 2019. It wasn't a threat - just a warning.
Meanwhile, the sixth and seventh devils lay together in a warm bed on the south side of Portland, sharing a joint and talking about backpacking in Europe, all while holding each other tightly enough to create creases in their own skin. One of them was good at hiding her horns in her rampant curls, while the other wore hers loudly and proudly. She considered getting them tattooed over the summer, specifically with rainbows. Then maybe Satan would actually accept her for who she was and give her a raise. She had persuaded Hollywood producers to make the Emoji Movie, after all.
The seventh devil let the smoke from the blunt fly from her mouth like clusters of tiny bats escaping the fiery bowels of Hell. Then she kissed the sixth devil on the head, pressed her pelvis against her back, and whispered, "Want me to make a Heaven out of this purgatory tonight?"
This week's prompt was provided by the song, "Seven Devils," written by Paul Epworth and Florence Welch and performed by Florence & The Machine.
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